


Good Omens Prompts

by QueridaMyDear



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley fights the Geese, Cuddling & Snuggling, Farmer's Market, First Kiss, M/M, Snake Crowley, Snake Crowley but drunk, Tags will be added as ficlets are added, There's weirdness afoot, Touch-Starved, attempted car sex, aziraphale likes soft things, but as a snake, evil geese, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-07-11 16:57:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19931407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueridaMyDear/pseuds/QueridaMyDear
Summary: What it says, Good Omens prompts, either from Discord or from Tumblr.





	1. Don't Get Yourself in A Knot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: tiny snek Crowley gets stuck in a knot

Prompt: tiny snek Crowley gets stuck in a knot

Aziraphale’s phone vibrated in the particular pattern he’d set up for Crowley, three long dashes, which pulled his attention away from his book. He set the book down perhaps a little faster than he would have for anyone else and picked up his phone, finding there was a new text from Crowley. Crowley didn’t always send very substantive texts, sometimes they were just selfies while Crowley was out and about, trying on clothes, causing mischief, or pictures of absolutely horrific angel merchandise along with a succinct ‘it u’. Silly as Crowley’s texts were, Aziraphale enjoyed them to no end, and he was wondering what Crowley had sent him this time, only to feel a terrible chill come over him, seeing just one word typed out:

h el p

Aziraphale very quickly bookmarked his spot in the book, stood from his comfy armchair, adjusted his jacket for any wrinkles obtained while sitting, and miracled himself to Crowley’s flat without a thought or care as to what those above or below would think about an angel using his heavenly gift to travel to the home of a demon.

“Crowley??” He called frantically, peeking into the untouched kitchen, but of course he wasn’t there, it hadn’t been used since the day Crowley moved in. Did Crowley even realize there was a kitchen? Aziraphale hurried from the living room to the bathroom (also untouched) to the plant room, growing more and more terrified the further he went into the flat with still no sign of Crowley. Was he even here? What if he was somewhere else? How in the world would he find him??

He ran into the bedroom last and was struck silent at the sight of a tiny black snake on Crowley’s silk sheets, lying next to Crowley’s phone, its small body twisted up like a pretzel, tied in on itself, like a knot. Aziraphale stared, watching Crowley struggle and squirm on the bed, but the silk sheets provided no traction for him to move against. His small black head and tail thrashed about wildly, trying to work himself loose, but to no avail. He was stuck.

Aziraphale was silent for a time, just watching as his dear friend, Anthony J. Crowley, demon of Hell, instigator of the Apocalypse, creator of the M25, as he squirmed and rolled around in a tiny snake body, helplessly trying to untie himself. 

He giggled at first, the sound making Crowley freeze. Then he laughed a little louder. He just looked so ridiculous and so small, tied in a knot and trying so hard to move, but he was _stuck!_ Finally, great big peals of laughter broke out of Aziraphale, remembering the pathetic cry for help Crowley had texted him, imagining him twisted up and struggling with all his might to type ‘h el p’ with his wee nose or tail. Aziraphale’s knees trembled and he fell to the floor, howling with helpless laughter at the plight of Anthony J. Crowley tangled up in his own tiny snake body.

Aziraphale peeked over the edge of the bed and saw a very tiny, very angry face staring at him, which reduced the angel to a second round of uncontrollable laughter on the floor, heaving in great breathless gasps as he tried to regain control of himself, but every time he settled down even a little, Crowley’s tiny angry face popped back into his head and he was right back where he started, curled up and laughing helplessly on the floor.

When at last Aziraphale could breathe again he stood, throwing quick glances Crowley’s way, trying to hold in his residual giggles. He couldn’t look at him for too long, so he mostly stared at Crowley’s drab walls.

“Got yourself in a bit of a bind, my dear?” Aziraphale snickered. Crowley hissed at him, his tiny teeth not the least bit intimidating.

“Oh don’t get yourself all bent out of shape,” Aziraphale giggled, thoroughly amused with himself. He reached over and gently picked Crowley up off the bed, and very slowly untied him, stroking careful, soothing fingers over Crowley’s little spine. He felt Crowley’s shape start to change and grow larger, and he quickly returned him to the bed, watching the tiny snake take the familiar shape of his friend, looking extremely embarrassed. 

“I can’t wait to hear how this happened.” Aziraphale was practically bouncing while Crowley was trying to look anywhere but at Aziraphale. “If you want this story to stay between us, you need to tell me how it happened.”

“Blackmail isn’t very nice, angel.” Crowley murmured, still looking at the far wall, not at Aziraphale.

“Hold that thought while I text Adam and his friends.” Aziraphale started, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Crowley was up in a flash, grabbing for Aziraphale’s phone, but the angel held it at arms’ length, a brow raised expectantly. Crowley sighed a very dramatic full-body sigh and slunk back to the bed, once again avoiding eye contact. He motioned to several empty bottles of wine on the floor that Aziraphale hadn’t noticed until that moment.

“I was… I was drunk. And the sheets felt so nice. I wondered what… What it would feel like if I was a snake. On the sheets. So I changed to a snake and I… Just startled wiggling around.” A snort from Aziraphale stopped Crowley’s story and he glared at the angel, whose mouth was pinched tight, his eyes a bit manic as he held back another round of explosive laughter. “And that’s what happened, alright?? I was drunk and I turned into a snake and got myself knotted up! And I tried to get myself free but I was just making it worse so I texted you for help!”

With an incredible display of self control, Aziraphale managed to giggle only a few more times as the memory of Crowley’s tiny mad face came back to mind.

“My dear, I’m very happy you reached out for my help, that means a great deal to me that you trusted me.” 

Crowley finally turned to look at him, touched that it had meant to much to Aziraphale.

“And if it ever happens again, please know that you can ask me to help you. And I do hope that it does, because I forgot to record a video.”


	2. Missing Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crowley is touch-starved. Terribly, deeply, touch-starved.

Hell isn’t big on touching. Part of it is that everyone smells bad or is covered in pustulent, open sores. The other part is that it simply isn’t part of demonic nature to be very touchy-feely. Demons were made to bring out the worst of humankind, they weren’t designed to want to touch or to seek it out.

Crowley has always been a little different from other demons, though. It’s not that he’s ever felt a particularly strong urge to wrap his arms around Beezlebub or plant a kiss on Hastur’s cheek, but there’s a certain empty frustration he feels that he can’t put words to when he’s alone in his flat. There’s a longing he doesn’t understand when he sits next to Aziraphale on the bench in St. James’, one foot of space between them. He longs for Aziraphale’s company, he understands that, and he indulges himself with as much of the angel’s company as Aziraphale will provide. His angel is nice to talk to, fun to annoy, and a hell of a conversationalist due both to their long lives and Aziraphale’s reading habit, especially when they’re drunk and discussing who would win in a fight, a narwhal or a unicorn. But there’s something else that’s missing, something he can’t figure out.

The missing piece quite literally hits him square in the chest one day as he’s storming into Aziraphale’s bookshop just as Aziraphale is hurrying out, and his angel ends up running right into him, alarmed and instinctively holding onto Crowley’s waist to keep himself upright and make sure Crowley didn’t fall either.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize you were coming over today! I would’ve made tea! You really need to start letting me know when you’re coming over so I can at least tidy up a bit, there’s books everywhere!” Which was the natural state of the bookshop, but somehow to Aziraphale’s eyes the present surroundings were different from how they usually were. To literally anyone else’s eyes, it looked the same as it had the previous day.

Crowley was frozen in place, all memory of why he was even there lost from his thoughts as his brain zeroed in on Aziraphale’s warm hands and strong grip on his waist. Touching him. Holding him. 

“Crowley? Are you alright?” Aziraphale lifted one hand from Crowley’s waist and brought it to his face, the tips of his fingers so lightly lining his cheekbone but their presence felt so heavy, Crowley fully aware of the feeling of someone else touching his face, that other blessed hand still on his waist. This was what had been missing. The undefinable longing, the frustration of being so near Aziraphale… But so far from him. From his touch.

“I-I’m fine.” Crowley’s voice was small and choked. Both of Aziraphale’s hands came to rest on Crowley’s face, thumbs on his cheekbones and fingers fanned out over his jaw, fingertips on his neck making him gasp and shiver.

“Are you sure? You’re acting so peculiar. Do you need a drink? Let me get you a drink.” Aziraphale pulled his hands away, turning to go get a glass of water. Crowley panicked, only aware of the sudden absence of Aziraphale’s hands, his skin feeling cold again.

“No!” He cried, reaching out for Aziraphale, grabbing him by the wrist. The angel stopped, turning back to stare at him with a quizzical expression.

“Crowley, what on earth is the matter?” He asked, letting his wrist hang in Crowley’s hand. 

“I…” He had no idea how to explain it. How to confess there had been something wrong with Crowley, something that made him so frustrated and cold, that had been fixed when Aziraphale touched him. Instead he brought Aziraphale’s hand back to his face and pulled his sunglasses off, letting him see the desperation in his eyes.

“I need… I need this. I need…” He needed his angel’s touch, needed to feel him and the texture of his skin and the smell of his book ink fingers pressed against Crowley’s skin. 

“Need… What, exactly?” Aziraphale didn’t quite understand but left his hand on Crowley’s face. Truth be told, he’d always wanted to touch Crowley. He was so angular and sharp looking, he wanted to know if he was as sharp as he looked. And though he could feel Crowley’s cheekbones under his fingers, the skin over them was soft. His curious fingers felt Crowley’s jawline as he awaited his answer, following the line of it to his chin, his fingers curling underneath as Crowley wilted under his touch, looking up at him, needy.

“No one in Hell does this.” He choked out, needing so much more than just Aziraphale’s hands on his face. “No one… Touches.”

“Oh! Oh.” Aziraphale could relate, sadly. Every time he went to Heaven, everyone maintained a professional distance from one another. The only time any angel touched another was to shake their hand to congratulate a job well done. “That’s… Very sad to know that Heaven and Hell are alike in that aspect.”

It occurred to Aziraphale then that they were wanting similar things. Crowley wanted Aziraphale to touch him, and Aziraphale wanted to touch Crowley and learn how he felt. 

"Perhaps… We can help each other, then." Aziraphale offered his hand, which Crowley quickly accepted, then guided Crowley over to a couch situated by a window. The couch had seemed like the kind of thing that belonged in the kind of bookstore Aziraphale wanted to own, even though he wasn’t in the business of encouraging customers to linger. But it was useful in this instance as he sat down and gently pulled Crowley to sit beside him.

“So… How do we…” Crowley didn’t even quite understand the mechanics of this, how did they fit together?

“Well, we can start, then if it doesn’t work, we can move around a little until it does.” Aziraphale squirmed happily in his seat, heart thrumming with excitement that soon he’d be able to touch and feel Crowley as much as he wanted.

“Um. Let’s try… This.” Aziraphale set his hands at Crowley’s waist and leaned back across the couch. Crowley resisted Aziraphale’s gentle pull at first, then obeyed, following his angel to lay over the couch, though he planted his hands on either side of Aziraphale to hold him up, terrified to fully lay over him even though he desperately wanted to.

“Come here, you silly thing!” Aziraphale laughed and wrapped both arms around Crowley’s shoulders, pulling him close to his chest with the sudden speed and strength of a snake attack, leaving Crowley floundering for a moment as he landed along the length of Aziraphale’s warm body. He calmed, long limbs no longer flailing around in a panic as he tried to figure out where to put everything. Aziraphale felt Crowley moving around in little gestures, trying to get more comfortable without disturbing him.

“Go on, move around until you’re comfortable. It’s quite alright.” Aziraphale assured him. Crowley nodded, his face flushed and words failing him. All of this was just so new to him, even this position, his face squished into Aziraphale’s chest, felt painfully intimate.

Crowley moved so his face was a little higher, resting closer to Aziraphale’s shoulder. He left one long leg stretched out along the length of the couch, and hitched the other up, hooking around Aziraphale’s hip, his arms around the angel’s neck.

“That’s very nice, isn’t it?” Aziraphale was terribly pleased, feeling Crowley relax against him, a silent nod against his shoulder. Aziraphale let one of his own hands come to rest on Crowley’s shoulder, the other slowly starting to pet Crowley, feeling from the top of his head, fingers carding through his hair, along the back of his neck and down to the middle of his spine. Crowley shivered pleasantly, melting into Aziraphale’s body more and more with each stroke of his hand over his body, the weight of Aziraphale under him and his hand behind him making him feel wonderfully protected on either side. He could feel Aziraphale breathing and the beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin under his clothes, and the protective grasp of his fingers on his shoulder. Aziraphale could feel the slimness of Crowley’s body under his hand, the bump-bump-bump of his long spine, and the way he nuzzled in closer every time Aziraphale stroked his hair.

This. This was what had been missing.


	3. I'm in Love With My Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discord prompt:  
> -I mean, I keep waffling between "Crowley's biggest fantasy is having a threesome with Aziraphale in his car" and "Crowley would never, because what if they stain the leather"
> 
> -i love LOVE the idea though of crowley getting handsy with aziraphale somewhere so they go to the bentley and crowley's like 'what if we just do it here in the car' and aziraphale agrees and starts to pull him back in for kisses but crowley stops everything and has them both get out of the car so he can like, lay down a tarp over the back seat
> 
> -Maybe he'd make it tartan, to put Aziraphale back in the mood

It wasn’t clear which one of them had initiated it. The movie had reached a slow part and either Crowley had been the first to slide a hand over Aziraphale’s thigh and give it a squeeze, or else Aziraphale had leaned in close and pressed soft kisses against Crowley’s neck. What was clear was neither of them was interested in the movie anymore so they got out of their seats and headed out.

_“There’s only room in this band for one hysterical queen!”_ The movie shouted at them as the theater doors shut behind them.

Hands clutched tightly, they hurried out to the Bentley, where Crowley pressed Aziraphale up against the body of the car, boxing him in and pressing their lips tightly together. Aziraphale moaned softly under his kisses, arms sliding around Crowley’s shoulders, fingers playing with the hair on the back of his head. Crowley’s hands moved from Aziraphale’s waist, sliding slowly up the side of the Bentley to rest on the top of the car, his kisses perhaps becoming a little more eager and insistent as he felt up his car with Aziraphale pressed up against him.

“Let’s go, back to my place, back to your place, whichever.” Aziraphale said breathlessly between kisses, his soft pale cheeks flushed as he looked up at Crowley, eager to get anywhere but where they were.

“Yeah, we could…” Crowley started, eyes on the sleek black top of his car, thumbs pressed into the metal. “Or we could just… Y’know, hop in the back seat.”

“...Wh… Have sex in the Bentley?” Aziraphale blinked, then turned to look into the back seat to check if it was as small as he recalled, and it was, indeed. He had his doubts about whether they could both fit in the back.

“Yeah! I’ve always.... Always wanted to.” Crowley confessed, looking and sounding more eager for this to happen than Aziraphale thought was strictly healthy. But if it would make Crowley that happy… He gave a short nod and Crowley quickly plunged a hand into his pockets, fishing out his keys and jamming them into the lock. He unlocked the door and flung it open, turning about quickly with his back to the interior to grab Aziraphale by the front of his jacket, tugging him in close for another kiss. Aziraphale was a little startled by how excited Crowley was to have sex in the car, but it wasn’t that big a deal, he supposed. Might be a fair bit of awkward maneuvering, but they could make it work.

Crowley sat down and started to slide across the back bench, Aziraphale crawling in over him, hands in his hair and lips on his neck, nipping and kissing when Crowley cried out.

“Wait! Angel, wait!” He sat up, Aziraphale sitting up sharply and bumping his head against the roof. 

“What is it??” Aziraphale demanded as Crowley opened the opposite door and slithered out, hurrying around to the trunk. He crawled out as well to see what was going on, and found Crowley was carrying a large blue tarp in his arms, which he unfolded, and flung over the back seat and foot wells.

“There we are! Alright, let’s get back to it, angel.” Crowley went in for a kiss but Aziraphale sharply raised a hand in Crowley’s face, eyes stuck on the tarp.

“You put a tarp over the back seat.” He stated, the blue a horrible eyesore against the black leather interior.

“...Yes, I did?” Crowley wasn’t sure what was wrong. “I don’t want to get sweat or… Other fluids on the leather, it’s awful to get out. Look if it’s the tarp, I can fix it.”

Crowley snapped his fingers and the tarp remained a tarp, but the blue changed to a cheery tartan pattern that matched Aziraphale’s bow tie. Crowley looked to him for the approval he expected, but all he found was an expression on Aziraphale’s face suggesting he was witnessing the single most offensive thing he had ever experienced in his long life. Then he suddenly turned to face Crowley, his expression flat.

“I bid you good night, Mr. Crowley.” Aziraphale turned to him and gave him a nod, and started walking away back toward the direction of his bookshop.

“Wha- Aziraphale! Come back! I’ll get rid of the tarp!”


	4. A Drunken Snake Taking Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crowley is drunk as fuck as a snek with wings and decides to harass the wildlife.

“How much did you drink??” There was an absolutely alarming amount of empty vodka bottles scattered around the floor in Crowley’s living room, and splayed out on the couch was Crowley, head flung over the back of the couch, another empty bottle in hand. “And why??” They’d gotten drunk together for fun many times, but this was… A lot. 

“‘S good, tastes like, uh.” Crowley seemed to have forgotten the flavor so he checked the bottle, seeing a large bee on the front, “Bees. Wait. No. Honey.”

“Ah. I see, honey does taste very good.” Aziraphale started picking up the bottles and setting them on a nearby side table. At the very least, they needed to be off the floor. 

Still clutching a bottle that was 90% empty, Crowley slowly pulled himself up, though he sagged heavily against the back of the couch, quite extraordinarily drunk. He stood, then quickly fell back onto the couch, his body unsure of how to keep him upright. 

“My bees… I mean booze.” He protested weakly when Aziraphale removed the last bottle of vodka from his hand, carrying them all outside to throw them away, but he was struck with a conundrum. He had intended to throw them all away, but as he and Crowley didn’t usually generate trash, they didn’t have trash bins.

“Oh, no, what do they look like…” Aziraphale sighed, trying to discreetly glance down the street and find a neighbor’s personal trash can to model a miraculous can off of, but all he could see were public bins and a dumpster in the alley beside a restaurant down the street. He sighed and thought back to TV shows and movies he and Crowley had watched, finally summoning up a mental image of a personal bin that allowed him to miraculously create one, which landed right in front of him. He carefully put them inside, then moved the can next to the steps that led up to Crowley’s flat, alarmed to find Crowley, still extraordinarily drunk and very wobbly, leaning in the doorway and not safe and harmless on the couch like Aziraphale had left him.

“Crowley, what are you doing?” Aziraphale demanded and rushed up the steps, making himself a barricade so Crowley couldn’t get any further out of the flat. “Go back inside, you’re drunk!” There was no way he could allow an extremely drunk demon to run around London. There was no telling what he’d do!

“Azififlele, mo… Move. Outta my way, angel!” Crowley tried to lurch forward but wound up leaning on Aziraphale instead. Crowley whined, trying to move away from Aziraphale, but he was too drunk and unsteady to fight.

“You’re coming back inside, Crowley.” Aziraphale said, his tone very certain, very final. He kept a hand on Crowley’s wrist and started to pull him inside, Crowley trying to go limp.

“No! Afifizzel, I’m gonna… I have vengeance to extract! There is unjustice afoot! I must… I’m gonna make it right!” 

Aziraphale sighed a deep, weary, long-suffering sigh, watching his demon splayed out on the front steps, shitfaced beyond comprehension.

“What kind of ‘unjustice’, my dear?” He asked, making sure to stay very close to Crowley in case he tried to make a run for it. Crowley motioned Aziraphale close and he indulged the demon, crouching down and giving him an ear.

_“The geese. Afizzaele. The geese.”_

“...The geese?”

“At St. James’!” Crowley sputtered, wondering why Aziraphale wasn’t catching on when he was being perfectly clear. “Every time we go there… We feed ducks, yeah?” 

“Yes…”

“And the… The geese! _The geese bully the ducks, Azizfiffle!_ If I don’t fight for them, who will??” Crowley demanded, looking teary-eyed. He tried to stand, leaning most of his weight on the railing as he tried to walk down the stairs, and stumbled, falling onto his rear before he even reached the first step.

“I can’t get down the steps, Azizabelle.” Crowley cried softly, looking at him upside down from where he lay. Aziraphale sighed again, and carefully helped Crowley up.

“Come along, let’s get you inside.”

“But the geese! _The geese!!”_

“The ducks are fine, Crowley, they get enough to eat!”

“But they could be fatter, Azipharale! Don’t you want the ducks to be fat??” Crowley started toward the stairs again and Aziraphale held his grip on Crowley’s wrist, surprised to suddenly be falling backwards himself as Crowley’s human shape quick suddenly shrank into that of a tiny snake. Aziraphale was almost relieved. It would be much easier to contain Crowley as a snake! He reached forward to take hold of him, planning to drop Crowley off on his silken sheets, which would trap him until he was more sober, but before he could get a grip, Crowley slithered down the steps and onto the sidewalk.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried. There were cars coming! No one would see a tiny black snake slithering across the street! “CROWLEY, STOP!”

To his horror, rather than slithering into the street, Crowley grew a tiny pair of black wings and flew up off the sidewalk, his snake body hanging limp from where the wings met his body. He took off over the sea of cars, flying across the street to the park, which was not St. James’, but it did have geese. They’d been there a few times for park bench picnics where they both peeled the heels off their sandwiches and thrown them to the ducks, only for geese to occasionally come out and honk at them (‘them’ being the ducks, as well as Crowley and Aziraphale).

“Crowley, get back here!” Aziraphale cried helplessly, but Crowley was flying further and further away, on a quest to terrorize some geese. Aziraphale wondered how he was going to get across the street as quickly as he needed to, but he realized all the cars had stopped, the bewildered drivers getting out to stare at the receding snake, flying limply through the air.

“Excuse me, pardon me,” Aziraphale wove through the stopped cars and stood on the sidewalk, aware that the longer he took, the further away Crowley was getting, but he couldn’t let a bunch of humans go about their day after witnessing a snake with wings drunkenly bobbing through the air.

“Hello everyone! I’ll make this brief! You are going to get back into your cars now and close your eyes. Your eyes will be closed for approximately one minute, and when you open them, you will remember nothing of the past five or so minutes!” He snapped his fingers and all the drivers slid obediently into their cars, and closed their eyes. Aziraphale turned and ran into the park. He’d completely lost sight of Crowley. But the further he went along the path, the more he started to notice he was running past people who looked much like the drivers standing in the street; shocked, dazed, all staring in the same direction. He sighed, stood in front of them, and convinced them all they were having a very realistic dream. 

Aziraphale ran in the direction they had all been staring and found himself at the pond he and Crowley liked to sit by, a small, winged snake flying around and hissing at the much larger geese who honked angrily at him.

“ _Hiss!_ How do you like it?? Not so tough when the snake of Eden is after you! Don’t you try to fly at me, I can fly too!” Crowley wheeled himself around in midair and slapped a goose across the beak with the end of his tail. The goose honked wildly, wings flapping, snapping at Crowley.

“Crowley! Stop that this instant!” Aziraphale cried, terrified to get much closer to an angry flock of geese, even to retrieve his drunk friend. Aziraphale had stood by Crowley's side as they faced down Lucifer during the Apocalypse, but angry geese were simply too dangerous to risk approaching. 

“Don’t worry, I have the upper hand here, Azbazzle!” Crowley yelled over the cacophonous honking. “THIS IS FOR STEALING FOOD FROM THE DUCKS, YOU _BRUTES!_ ”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley attempted to repeat his earlier attack, spinning himself around in a circle with a goal of hitting multiple geese across their beaks, but only one of them was lined up to receive a hit. Crowley only succeeded in making himself extremely dizzy and he dropped onto the pavement, trapped inside a dangerously angered ring of geese. All around them there was a growing audience, people who had been lured in by the sound of honking geese, people who could have sworn they’d seen a flying snake, people who could have sworn they’d heard the flying snake _talk_ , and people who had just happened upon the bewildering scene while on a lunchtime walk.

“Oh, I’m not dealing with this!” Aziraphale snapped and a bag of the finest Russian black bread appeared in his hand. If the discerning ducks at St. James’ liked it, then these feral geese would like it too. Aziraphale threw the entire loaf into the pond and the geese scattered, their fury at Crowley forgotten as they started to fight each other for the black bread. Aziraphale scooped up Crowley’s exhausted little body, the tiny snake making noises that sounded like him whining.

Aziraphale was met with an entire park full of people staring at him. At this point if he had to make a third crowd of people within the span of ten minutes forget, Heaven would be calling, wondering what was happening.

“Hello, everyone! So sorry you had to see that! My pet snake got out, you see! Rare African flying snake!” Aziraphale said as he worked his way through the crowds, holding Crowley out for them all to see, most of them gasping in horror at the sight of a very small snake. Though the wings were probably upsetting some of them. “Yes, he was tormented by geese as a very small snake, he absolutely hates them now, has pledged to rid the world of geese! Must be getting him home now, ta!”

He booked it back to Crowley’s flat and slammed the door shut, locking it tightly and heaving a huge sigh of relief. He was almost too stunned to even be mad about everything that had just happened. Aziraphale carried Crowley to his room and dropped him on the bed, where Crowley wouldn’t be able to escape thanks to his silk sheets.

“Azbibael…” Crowley, tiny, drunk, still a snake, whined pitifully from the bed, “I… I did it. I avenged the ducks.”


	5. Why Won't You Ever Know That I'm in Love With You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: First kiss

He was warm. That was first and foremost in Crowley’s thoughts. He was warm and the couch was so soft. He sank just right into the cushions on Aziraphale’s couch, his head propped just so on the pillows, one arm flung over his head, the other resting on his stomach. His legs were too long, always too long, and one hung off the edge of the couch, bent at the knee, his heel on the rug, the other leg propped slightly uncomfortably on the opposite arm rest. He didn’t know of a single couch that could contain all of him, so he was used to it and easily ignored it in favor of paying attention to how soft the cushions were, and how they smelled so thoroughly of Aziraphale’s cologne. 

Crowley tipped his face forward, letting his nose touch the fabric so he could breathe in the scent, his snake tongue flicking out to take in all he could. The most noticeable scents were chocolate and cedar, remnants of the cologne Aziraphale’s barber had suggested. Then there were more subtle hints, scents his angel picked up while living his daily life. The smell of old books and the adhesives he used to fix books in disrepair. The smell of sweets, of pastries, that sat on his tongue and made him sigh out sounds of pleasure and joy that Crowley could recall, even now, that made him ache with the sheer enjoyment of watching Aziraphale enjoy himself. Even fainter, under the cologne, under the other scents Aziraphale carried around with him, were notes of old leather and freshly-pruned greenery, which Crowley recognized as part of his own scent. Whether the scent of himself had permeated into the couch through all the time he spent with Aziraphale, his scent bonding to the angel’s own, or whether he’d put it there himself with how many hours he spent asleep on this couch, he couldn’t be sure. But either way it brought him joy to know that he was leaving his mark on his angel. He hoped, in turn, that Aziraphale’s scent was permeating his clothes and his life as well.

He moved his head back, resting more fully in the middle of the pillows, a comfortable sigh passing his lips as the cushion cradled his head and neck. Crowley heard the sudden whoosh and ensuing soft crackle of a fire suddenly starting in the nearby fireplace, a sure sign that Aziraphale had finished his work in the store below and was on his way up the spiral staircase that led to his flat. Crowley had wondered, sometimes to himself, sometimes out loud, why Aziraphale had added a fireplace to his flat. Aziraphale had told him he enjoyed the ambiance it created, and the aesthetic of a roaring fire while reading a book or simply sitting in one of his many comfortable, elderly pieces of furniture. Crowley deeply enjoyed the look and feel of Aziraphale’s flat as well. He actually wanted to spend time there, unlike his own flat. Crowley’s flat left many things to be desired. The only things in his flat he cared about were his plants (not that he would ever let them catch on) and his astronomy books. It suddenly occurred to Crowley that he needed to spend a few hours in the bookshop downstairs, browsing Aziraphale’s astronomy books. He had books on every topic Crowley could think of and then some. Surely he had a remarkable collection of astronomy books as well.

Part of Crowley wanted to get up right now and go take a look, but it was a very small part of him, compared to the much larger, much louder part of him that was content to simply lay on the couch and enjoy the feeling of being in an environment where he felt so warm and safe and sheltered from all of the nonsense they had to deal with on a daily basis. That part of himself was told to wait for morning, then he’d have a look around the bookstore. Right now, he was listening to the fire and enjoying the incredibly soft pillows.

Crowley picked up the not-too-distant sound of Aziraphale’s footsteps, heavy on the metal staircase that carried him up to the flat. The door opened and Crowley kept his eyes closed, pretending to sleep, wanting nothing more than to just lay there and take everything in. Aziraphale’s footsteps headed away, toward the kitchen, then stopped abruptly. He heard the soles of Aziraphale’s shoes turn on the carpet, his footsteps now approaching Crowley where he lay on the couch. He kept his breath as perfectly even as he could, feigning the pattern of undisturbed, deep sleep.

There was a shuffling sound, something he couldn’t quite figure out at first, followed by the soft, almost imperceptible slide of fabric against more fabric. Once Crowley realized Aziraphale had removed his jacket, because of course he had, he was finished with his ‘work’ for the day, it didn’t make sense that he would spend the entire night wearing his precious antique jacket, he felt the weight of it spreading over his torso and arms as Aziraphale lay his jacket gently over Crowley’s prone form, hoping to keep him warm and comfortable.

The rich scent he’d caught hints of in the couch’s fabric now permeated Crowley’s senses, flooding him with deeper samples of the scents he’d smelled before and new ones, and now he could put names to the whispers he hadn’t fully been able to catch. Holy incense, Earl Grey, petrichor, fresh linens. It took all of his strength to continue his sleeping facade, to not clutch the jacket to his face and smell it as deeply as he wanted. Perhaps when Aziraphale walked away again he might dare to try. He heard a soft whoosh and felt more heat near his head. Aziraphale had stoked the fire, hoping to keep the room at a pleasant temperature for Crowley.

Still hoping to perhaps have a chance to bury his nose in the jacket for a leisurely sniff, Crowley realized that Aziraphale’s footsteps hadn’t turned and left. There was no soft scrape of his shoe against the carpet or pattering of his shoes on the tiled kitchen floor, or the sink running to fill the kettle. He could still feel Aziraphale standing in the same position he’d stood in when he first put his jacket over Crowley. Was he just... Standing there? He hadn’t turned to watch the fire, Crowley hadn’t heard him move at all. So either he was standing beside the couch, head turned to watch the fire, or... He was watching Crowley sleep. 

While Crowley tried to figure out exactly what Aziraphale was doing, he finally heard movement, the sound of the inner thighs of his pants sliding together interspersed with the sounds of the fire and Aziraphale’s soft exhale as he kneeled, warm, and so close, at the side of the couch. Crowley could feel him though they weren’t touching, his presence as tangible to him as the jacket resting over his shoulders. He heard Aziraphale’s gentle sighs, his soft breathing, the sounds changing direction as he looked Crowley over from head to toe at his leisure, freed from the embarrassment of Crowley being awake and responding to his longing gaze. The breathing was something that wasn’t strictly necessary, but they had both opted in as it allowed them to blend in more with the humans around them. It seemed there was something subtly off about a person who wasn’t breathing, something that drew attention. Small details such as automatic breathing had seemed trivial when it was activated in their human shapes, but now, laying quiet and prone on the couch with Aziraphale looming over him, the sound of his angel’s breathing and the heat of it on Crowley’s face was suddenly so precious to him, so dear. It was thrilling to have him so close, to hear and feel him nearby.

Crowley felt the ghost of a hand approaching his cheek, hovering and unsure, before finally landing. Aziraphale’s fingertips curled in just the slightest, as though to secure a better grip, possibly afraid Crowley might slip out of his hands. The touch itself was light and hesitant; Aziraphale was scared Crowley would wake up and put an end to this. Despite his fear, he couldn’t resist his need to touch Crowley. He had longed for him for so many, many years, every shared smile and laugh leading to Crowley laying there on Aziraphale’s couch, looking so unguarded, so vulnerable, so open, so unlike his usual self, with his walls up high to keep everyone but Aziraphale out.

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s fingers, warm and soft and smelling of the sandalwood lotion he had taken to using lately, his thumbs resting lightly on each of Crowley’s cheekbones, his fingers fanned along his jaw, holding him carefully like one of his antique books, like he was something precious to treasure. Crowley felt the palm of Aziraphale’s hand so close to his cheek. It would be so easy to just turn his head and brush his lips against the round base of Aziraphale’s thumb, a quiet announcement that he was actually awake. What would Aziraphale do? Would he be surprised to find out Crowley was awake? Would he let him continue as he pleased? Would he be angry about the deception? Crowley longed to kiss Aziraphale’s thumb and work his way across his palm, to tell him without words what he felt for him, because the words he needed so seldom came to him at the right moment.

He felt Aziraphale come in closer, becoming more aware of his warmth and his scent until his soft lips landed in the corner of Crowley’s mouth with a gentle kiss. Aziraphale leaned his forehead against Crowley’s temple, taking in a ragged, shuddering breath. He felt a hesitant and slow kiss on his cheek before Aziraphale finally pressed their lips together, the fingers of one hand curled around the back of Crowley’s head, playing with his short hair. How Aziraphale wished he could do this whenever he wanted, to simply reach out and tease Crowley’s wild hair and feel the soft, fluffy ends of it, or lean in and kiss his cheek or his lips. 

Crowley felt a desperation in Aziraphale’s shallow kisses, the desire to deepen the kiss present, his tongue flicking small licks against Crowley’s lips as he panted softly between kisses, trying to restrain himself lest Crowley wake up. Crowley, for his part, desperately wanted to ‘wake up’ mid kiss, enthusiastic and eager to return each kiss and hold Aziraphale as gently and eagerly as he was being held, fingers scratching through his hair and lips at the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his lips. But he was petrified. What if Aziraphale was furious with embarrassment that Crowley had pretended to sleep, only to wake up when Aziraphale was at an extremely vulnerable and emotional moment?

Aziraphale kissed him one last time, lingering, not wanting to pull away. He pretended, for just a few minutes, that maybe he was kissing Crowley good night or kissing him awake, that Crowley would look at him with his lovely serpentine eyes and smile, then pull Aziraphale close and initiate a kiss.

But of course that wasn’t what happened. Crowley stayed asleep. Aziraphale sighed deeply, the sound weary and tired, exhausted from carrying his love for Crowley quietly within himself for so many thousands of years. When at last Aziraphale pulled away from the kiss he was still lightly holding Crowley, his grip shaking, not wanting to let go. When was the next time he’d be able to do something like this? Should he even try it again? He knew he shouldn’t have done it this time, it was awful to betray Crowley’s trust in this way, taking advantage of him while he slept. Aziraphale felt sick to his stomach, looking over Crowley’s dear, sleeping face, mad at himself but wanting nothing more than to lean back in and kiss him again, to whisper his love to him.

“Dear boy, I love you so.”


	6. It's You, You're All I See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Trying not to kiss you
> 
> It’s important to me that you know that Crowley is wearing a black sun hat, a black sundress with sunflowers on it, black espadrilles, and a gold snake bracelet. There was nowhere I could casually shove that in, so here it is before you even start reading anything.

It was hot out, and Crowley was sweating, hoping their visit to the farmer’s market would be over soon. He was carrying a reusable hemp bag (“Why, angel.” “It’s trendy!”) full of purple potatoes, zucchini, cauliflower, and fresh mozzarella. Strictly speaking, they didn’t need to eat, but Aziraphale had watched some cooking show hosted by an Italian grandmother who made the most scrumptious looking lasagna, and Aziraphale wanted to give it a try. Crowley was dubious about the level of success they’d have making it. Not many of their attempts at cooking turned out well, but he did always love the experience of spending time in the kitchen with Aziraphale.

“Oh my! Look at that!” Aziraphale had just bought a green smoothie that looked trendy in the same way the reusable hemp bag was trendy, and was one sip in when something else had already caught his attention. Aziraphale linked his arm with Crowley’s and hurried through the thick morning crowd, Crowley trying to hold onto his sun hat as they brushed past other people carrying reusable hemp bags filled with vegetables and organic dog treats.

They stopped in front of a table covered in blankets that looked much too thick and woolen for the weather they were experiencing. All along the back of the tent set up were pictures of alpacas. Aziraphale already had one blanket thrown over his arm and a second spread open in his hands, admiring the colors.

“These are remarkable, my dear!” Aziraphale cooed to the young woman running the stand.

“Thank you! I weave them myself! The wool comes from these alpacas,” She motioned to the pictures behind her, Aziraphale’s eyes shining with delight to learn that he could see the faces of the very alpacas whose wool he was holding right now.

The girl launched into her sales pitch about shearing the alpacas herself, spinning the wool and dying it, but Crowley didn’t hear much of it, her speech fading into a dull background noise in his ears as his wandering gaze looked for something, anything to hold his attention until this was over. His gaze landed right back on Aziraphale as his angel carefully wrapped the blanket around a hand, a smile on his cheerful, lovely face as he caressed the blanket against his cheek, savoring the softness of the wool, the tightness of the weave. 

The world seemed to move in deafened slow motion as Crowley watched Aziraphale say something to the young lady, a muted explosion of laughter erupting on his face with an expression of pure open joy, followed by the look he wore when he was learning something new; reverent, intrigued, open, curious, his lips moving as questions poured out, wanting to know the ins and outs of the process. Aziraphale had walked this Earth for 6000 years, the same span of time as Crowley, and there had been times when Crowley wanted to hide away from humans, from history, from whatever events were happening around him. Hell, he’d missed an entire century to a nap. He’d never seen Aziraphale become jaded, ever. He remained forever curious, forever interested in everything going on around him, always wanting to know why and how and who. It was one of Crowley’s primary joys in life to know that Aziraphale was happy and having fun, no matter what they were doing. He stood a little closer to Aziraphale, wanting to be able to read the nuances of his expression better, the rise of his brows and lift of the corners of his mouth, the explosive soft little gasps of surprise and joy. Each tiny shift in his wildly expressive face lured Crowley in, every quirk of his lips, every tiny, joyous wiggle was pulling Crowley in closer.

Aziraphale felt him moving closer and turned to him, blanket around his fingers and gently petted it over Crowley’s cheek.

“Isn’t it marvelous, my love?”

It really was soft, and beneath the blanket Crowley could feel the outlines of Aziraphale’s fingers as they traced down the side of his face from cheekbone to chin. More than the blanket, he enjoyed Aziraphale’s reaction to it, his joy in the smallest details. His smile was so sweet and so soft, reaching his eyes and crinkling the corners, and once again he was unknowingly luring Crowley in, his excitement just begging the demon to kiss him. Crowley could almost hear Aziraphale’s thoughts as he started thinking about where exactly he was going to put the blanket in their flat. Somewhere he could touch it every day, no doubt, so he could pick it up and rub it over his cheek and enjoy the softness of the wool.

“Marvelous.” Crowley agreed. Personally, he didn’t give a damn. He didn’t care where the wool came from, what the alpaca’s names were, who spun it, or who wove it. There was no part of the process from animal to blanket that he cared about. But he loved how much Aziraphale loved it, and how happy he was to learn about the process. 

Aziraphale smiled then, a slow, lovely, indulgent smile that broke over his face like the sun rising over the horizon, a hint at first, then brighter and even more glorious. Crowley wasn’t sure if the smile was in response to his borderline-sarcastic agreement over the quality of the blanket, or if, perhaps… It was for him. Directed at Crowley. For no reason other than it made Aziraphale happy to look at him. Crowley received his answer when Aziraphale slipped his hand around Crowley’s and gave it a squeeze, that smile still directed at him for another moment before he turned back to the young woman to hear the remainder of her sales pitch.

Crowley felt the weight and the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand around his, that sunshine smile still playing over and over in his mind’s eye. Crowley had seen so many things during his life, he’d seen classic works of art created and seen empires rise and fall. But he had never seen anything quite so beautiful or striking as Aziraphale’s smile.

Crowley stood behind him, his chest to Aziraphale’s back, hands still clasped tightly, and placed an adoring kiss on his cheek. He felt Aziraphale squeeze his hand again in response, still nattering on about alpacas. 

Crowley was going to put the blanket on the bed.


End file.
